Things This Hot Always Burn
by Lexie-Rae
Summary: Sometimes they burn brightly, and others they burn out. Puck needs Santana's help. There's no one else he can trust to act as his pretend girlfriend; she's the only one that might not fall in love with him. That kind of favour's going to cost him though.


She sees him enter the room with his usual swag but she pretends not to notice. Her eyes stare instead to the magazine in her lap. It's a game she plays. One of the games at least, she's always toying with someone.

"Lopez."

She doesn't flinch.

Even though her gaze is settled to her lap, she just knows that he's grinding his teeth and his dark eyes are storming at her plain stubbornness. She yawns largely and flicks the page over. Even when the shadow of his hulking muscular form falls over her reading material, she doesn't look up.

"Santana, come on."

She's enjoying herself. Angry Puck is the sexiest type of Puck. If she can continue this all day he'll be irresistible by the time school's out and she really wants to christen the back seat of her new car with him. It can't be just anyone, she wants his bare skin against those fresh new leather seats.

"Not interested." She says in a low, uncaring tone.

"I need you." He says so pathetically that she almost laughs. "I'm serious."

"So am I, get out of my light." She crosses her legs and swivels side wards, she doesn't move away though because he's doing that husky breathing thing that she just loves.

He pulls up a chair which is kind of weird. He's being so needy that she's almost turned off. But really that's not possible, he's too damn hot.

"You're the only one who can help me." He whispers into her neck.

She snorts. A little. "Try a cold shower; I'm not rent-a-vagina."

He recoils away from her, "You think I'm begging you for sex? I could snap my fingers and I'd have a queue of girls. That's cold."

Sighing gently she tries to pretend that she doesn't care. She doesn't care that he could get any girl he likes. She doesn't care that he's not planning an epic make out after school like she is.

"Why don't you get one of those queuing morons to help you with whatever shit you've got yourself into this time?" She throws back at him. Then she stands to leave. She doesn't have time for this crap.

"It's my Mom." He says brass as day, "She's found me a nice Jewish girl."

Her face is turned away from him so he doesn't see her lip curl in disgust, "Okay, I'm listening."

"My Mom thinks that seeing as I don't have a girlfriend; she would go out and find me one." Puck tells her, "So I need to get me a girlfriend before dinner tonight otherwise Puckerman will officially be off the market."

The trouble is that him being in a relationship has never bothered her before. They've never let it get in the way of a quick fuck.

"What the hell do you want me to do about it?" She spins on her heel. Her arms are folded over her chest so that he has to stare into her eyes rather than at her assets.

He gives her that half-smirk that's supposed to make her melt but it doesn't. She guesses he's forgotten who he's dealing with. "I need a girl to pretend to be my girlfriend."

She shrugs her shoulders. What a freaking insult. He doesn't even want her; he just wants to use her.

"I need a girl who won't get emotionally attached. I don't need a whiney bitch dragging me down, if I did, I get with the sweet looking Jewish angel my Mom likes. You're the only girl I know who won't fall in love with me." He explains. "What's not to like? Everyone will think you're my girl."

She's offended. Doesn't he think that she could have got with him if she'd wanted him?

"Lopez, come on. If you say no I'm going to have to ask one of those Glee morons and that's gonna hurt my rep bad." He jerks his thumb towards the mismatched group of freaks over his shoulder. He has got a point.

Santana pulls a smile to her face, "I own you now, _Fuck_erman."

...

Being on Puck's arm all day and getting filthy looks from pretty much every girl in school? Yeah, she thinks it's pretty much worth it just for that. Never mind the sex. For the record though, the sex is out of this world. It kind of always has been. Because honestly, he's the best she's ever had.

And now she can call him up whenever she likes. It's her own personal _Fuck Puck Hotline_. And it's on speed dial.

Pulling her cell from her pocket she smiles; she could sure get used to this set up. One call and he's hers. Plus she doesn't have to bother with all of that relationship bullshit. They don't have to worry about feelings or how the other one's day is going. And that suits her just fine. She just gets the perks. His arm around her shoulder as they walk down the hall, that smirk reserved for her, and his promise that she can have him wherever and whenever she pleases. Yeah, she could totally get used to this.

She dials his number and leans back against her locker. Down the hall she watches as he flips his phone open and brings it to his ear.

"San_,_" He pretty much knows what's coming next. It's only been a week but he's grown used to the fact that all her calls are about one thing.

"Auditorium, after school. I want to test the acoustics." And she doesn't mean in a Rachel Berry way either.

"Got ya." He hangs up but she sees a slight smirk pull to his lips as he rejoins the conversation with the guys.

She hopes there's some damn good echo going on in that place because she wants to hear her scream bounce around the room when he makes her come. And a grand piano. Just because. Hell, she wants to be the sexy girl rolling all over that thing.

…

Glee Club is torture. Every time he hears a note from that piano, all Puck can think of is her. And that is not cool. She may own his dick but he never agreed to let her take over his mind as well.

Her in chocolate coloured lace lingerie. That varnished piano. And the fact that her violet polished toes actually hit one of the high notes as he came. Yeah, you can't even make that shit up.

And now she's across the room filing her nails as though they're the most exciting thing going on in the room. When clearly she should be staring at him. Because last night he blew her world. He knows he did.

...

She's not going to tell him or anything but she's enjoying herself. She's officially one half of the hottest couple in school. And she's more than okay with that.

The thing that's not so cool is the fact that the whole thing's a total sham. Obviously. It kills her a little bit though; the fact that the only way she can have Puck is for his little cover story. Plus she's seen his eye wandering when a short skirt passes them by and it's all she can do not to slap him. She can't though because she agreed to this. It's a non-exclusive agreement. She can hook-up with whoever she likes and he can do the same. As long as it doesn't get down the grapevine back to his Mom.

"Hey, Babe." His strong arms encircle her waist and he kisses her neck for good measure. And God it feels good in his hold. His lips are insanely soft too.

Santana opens her eyes slowly and turns to face her 'boyfriend', "Hey."

His eyes aren't on her though; they're watching a girl from across the room. He indicates to the brunette teen who keeps staring their way, "Her Mom and my Mom are tight."

"Oh." Santana feels herself deflate slightly. It's all for show. All of it. He doesn't care in the slightest.

"Could you at least look happy that the hottest guy in school just kissed you?" Puck requests, turning her gaze to him.

She presses a wide, false smile to her face, "Better?"

"I guess." He doesn't understand her. He doesn't understand girls in general. They're all so complicated and messed up.

Luckily though he's blessed with being Noah Puckerman so usually one quick smirk sorts out any problems. Santana though has always been a little more difficult to please. She's popular enough on her own and the least needy person he knows. It's going to take more than a flash of his grin to keep her sweet.

"Listen," He sighs because he's about to cross a line, he promised himself this would just be a business relationship. "Do you wanna go to Breadstix later?"

Her dark eyes flicker up to study his face. There's not a hint of a joke written over it and usually she can see it if it's there. "Sure."

As she walks away, he can't help but stare at her swishing hips. And her tight butt. And her bronzed legs. Hell, even the way her hair's swinging side to side. It's kind of a good thing; this pretend dating, as it gives him an excuse to stare after her all the time.

…

"I thought you loved it here." Puck says, staring over at Santana who's barely touched her meal. In fact she's only had a couple of breadsticks and they're in _Breadstix_. Usually she'd have filled her purse with a supply of the things by now.

She looks up at him a little sadly, "I do."

Damn she's difficult. He has no idea what the hell she's trying to tell him, or if she's trying to tell him anything at all.

She just stares down at her plate, wishing that she could force herself to eat but she's not hungry. They're at her favourite restaurant and she can't even be bothered to steal any food. He's really done a number on her.

The fact is that she can't shake the memories from her mind. Memories of them. Back when they were dating for real. They'd come to this restaurant, sit in this booth and they'd talk and flirt and almost do other stuff too.

This time though he's sat across from her. She picked out the booth because it's perfect for sitting in each other's laps. But he didn't even think to cosy up next to her and throw his arm around her shoulders. And not once has he fed her with his hands. She likes when he does that. Instead he's just stared at her the whole damn time and they've sat in silence.

"Look, don't get me wrong, it's not like I was gonna pay for this lot anyway but why come out to dinner if you're not hungry?" Puck asks. It's comes out as harsh and accusing. Really he's just waiting for her to say that she's got some kind of eating disorder so that he can tell someone else and they can sort that shit out.

"I don't know!" She throws her hands up and lifts to her feet. On her way out she grabs a breadstick and points it angrily at him, "Don't follow me."

Great. So his pretend girlfriend is pissed at him. This shit is so messed up that he's almost tempted to call the thing off and get with the cute Jewish girl. But he doesn't. He follows her. And yeah, some would say it's the kind of thing a whipped boyfriend would do but he'd punch them so hard they'd forget their own name anyway.

"What the hell was that?" He questions when he catches her up. It takes a while; she can seriously strut when she wants to.

"God, leave me alone." She storms, "Just call me up when you need me to be the girl on your arm. Don't add in all this dinner shit, okay? Pretending to care is pretty lame."

And she leaves him there on the sidewalk. His arms thrown out to his sides and a look of complete puzzlement written over his face.

As she marches away from him, she tries to think about something else besides his stupid face and her hammering heart but she can't. And that's fucking irritating. She's Santana Lopez. She doesn't need a boy to care about her. Stupid Puckerman and his dumb messed up arrangement.

Pulling out her cell, she sighs. When she gets mad, she gets horny. "Meet me in the alley."

She doesn't wait for his reply. She's too scared that he might have called the whole thing off meaning she doesn't own him anymore. That would suck. She'd have to find a random stranger then and that kind of ground work tends to make her lose her heat.

But he shows.

"San," He looks like he's going to apologise or something.

"Don't speak." She demands. Angry pretend break up sex needs to be angry. Not sweet and kind. "Just fuck."

He smirks devilishly. Yeah, he still has no freaking clue what the hell's happening but one thing he does understand is the lust in her shining eyes.

…

"Are we cool?"

He steps out in front of her as she's trying to walk towards class. She sighs and rolls her eyes. They're so far from cool it makes her feel sick.

"We're cool. Move"

He frowns and the cogs in his brain are whirring so much she can almost hear them churning. Luckily for her though he's too damn dumb to realise that they're not okay. That would be mortifying. If he knew that she's getting emotionally attached or something she might just die of shame.

"What happened at Breadstix?" He asks. And she has no idea why he's pushing this shit. He's supposed to not care.

"Nothing happened." It's the truth; he didn't even do anything inappropriate under the table. Complete disappointment.

She remembers a time when he plain used to steal her away from whatever she was doing just to fuck her. Shock sex was always her favourite. She thought he knew that.

His eyebrows knit and it's kind of cute. If she was the kind of girl who found things cute.

"You didn't eat anything." He states, still trying to work out what that actually means. Every other time he's taken her to Breadstix he's had to drag her away from the food.

It used to be inconvenient because her stuffing her face tended to get in the way of her giving him a quick hand job under the table. So naturally, he would do the gentlemanly thing and feed her himself. That meant her hands were free for his pleasure.

This time she wasn't even interested in the damn food. And he was just trying to be nice.

"I wasn't hungry. Get over it." She demands, trying to step around him. It's not that she cares about being late for class; she just doesn't want to be near him.

"'Kay, so you'll have dinner with my Mom and me tonight?" He asks, throwing her some seriously impressive puppy dog eyes.

She hates meeting Moms. None of them ever think she's good enough for their little sweetheart. Not that she cares. But a whole God damn meal where someone just stares hate into your eyes is something Santana could do without.

She sighs, a little grumpily, "It'll cost you."

He nods. He knew it would.

…

His Mom makes a Jewish feast. Yeah, Santana gets it, she's not freaking Jewish.

If she weren't locked in the stupid agreement with Puck she'd have stormed the hell out of there in within the first half an hour. But she is. And she just keeps thinking of that perfect Jewish girl Puck's Mom wants him to date. The thought of her hands all over his fine body doesn't sit well with Santana. She likes that she's the only girl to ever own Noah Puckerman. She wants to keep it that way.

"Do you go back home often?" Puck's Mom asks.

Santana pulls a face. She wonders if the bitch is popping pills.

Puck leans over and whispers lightly in her ear, "She thinks you're from Colombia."

"Why would she think that?" Santana demands.

"Because I told her you are." He shrugs, "You're Latino, right?"

Fucking moron. He owes her.

He knows he owes her. She's doing that jaw locking thing she does when she's mad. Right now she looks livid as hell. He's seen her punch people out for getting her ethnicity or whatever it is confused. So he's in some deep shit.

"Not so much." Santana says to Ms Puckerman, a fake grin over her lips.

"That's a shame." The older woman returns.

Santana feels her eyes narrow. She's stuck in a Puckerman nightmare. Puck owes her so bad right now that she's pretty much secured the right to his dick for the next three years. And he knows it. She can tell by the look on his face.

Serves him right, the dumb asshole.

Dinner drags on forever. She sees a thousand baby pictures of Puck. Sure, it was funny at first. How many three year olds do you see sporting Mohawks? But after the naked money shots it was all a little bit lame.

Still it didn't stop her from stealing the one where four year old Puck's proudly stood in his birthday suit waving to the camera. Yeah, that one's a keeper.

But she just lost a perfectly good night of her life to all that shit. And she reminds him of the fact as he walks her home.

"You knew it was part of the deal." He sighs, "You've got my number."

He has a feeling that as soon as he's back home she's going to call him back over to hers, just because it'll annoy the crap out of him. And she'll make him climb up to her window because all though she pretends not to, she loves that shit.

"The number's not enough." She tells him.

What the fuck does she want now? Her own personal hotline isn't enough?

She stares him straight in the eye. "I want you to want me."

He raises one eyebrow. He has no idea what the hell else to do. Because like every other girl on the damn planet, she just had to make things difficult.

"I want _you _to call _me_." She explains.

"This isn't a real relationship!" He cries out. It's a one way agreement. She gets to use him and he's okay with that. But having to want her. Well, it's likely he'll mess that up.

"I own you, right?" She questions. "After tonight, I own you big time. So surprise me, and make it fucking good."

She sashays away, her hips rolling in her low cut jeans.

Pretend girlfriends. Even more work that angelic Jewish real ones. Because now he actually has to think about this. It was easy to just answer her call and go fuck. He's good at that. And he kind of liked it, like he was a service. The ultimate superhero.

Now he's got to plan some kind of sextastic time. And he knows better than to disappoint Santana. Plus he saw her snatch that butt naked picture of him.

…

She's watching a telenovela when he falls in through her open window. She glances his way before returning to the lollipop she's sucking on. Yeah it should be his dick in her mouth but she's not going to cave in that quickly.

"Come on," He wants to get this over with already. He has other things going on. He doesn't need this kind of drama.

"Busy." She replies.

He breathes deeply through his nose, "Surprise sex. You can't say no to surprise sex."

"Just did."

God she's sexy when she's pissed.

"Can you like, leave now?" She proposes, not bothering to look in his direction.

He wishes she came with a manual because she's damn hard to work. He considers just leaving as she's suggesting but he's pretty sure that's the wrong thing to do. So instead he throws her over his shoulder and walks her out of her own house as she kicks and protests.

"I was watching that!" She rages when they're further down the street.

"And I was close to the high score on Packman last time you called me for sex." He shrugs.

She likes hearing that he drops everything to satisfy her needs. She can let the telenovela thing go. She wasn't watching it.

Puck stops outside some grand house on her block. "Pool sex."

"I have a pool." She points out.

He didn't just carry all the way from her bed for that kind of feedback. Plus where's the risk in having sex in your own pool?

He drops her to her feet and takes her by the hand. He'd meant to grab her wrist but he misjudged or something. But her fingers curl around his hand and he doesn't let go. He just drags her out back and begins to undress her.

She starts kissing him first. Because yeah, she really loves shock sex.

He grabs her by the waist and she giggles. She actually giggles. But it makes him smile a little bit so she supposes it's okay.

Right before he pulls her into the water he signals to her to hold her nose. He knows she can't cope with all that phlegm shit. It doesn't stop her from screaming though as they leap forwards into the blue depths. And she ends up choking on some chlorine nasty water.

She soon recovers when she sees him standing to attention. And the way the water's distorting things makes him look _huge_.

She laughs, takes a deep breath and dives beneath the surface to give him a personal welcome.

…

Pool sex followed by a little Jacuzzi fun was an inspired idea, even if Puck does say so himself. The extra cheap thrill of being chased off of the guy's property was the icing on the cake. Because naked piggybacks are always the most fun.

And it totally got Santana off his case. At least for 48 hours. Then she's calling again. He knows it's her without looking. He may have assigned her a personal ring tone. He may not have.

"Can't help you right now." He says into the receiver. And he really can't. He's almost at the front of the queue in the Pancake place. And he's craving, so he's staying and eating.

"Well I need a ride." She states bluntly.

He scoffs. He's not her freaking chauffer. He's just some kind of sex servant.

"I'm stuck up by the reservoir, my car broke down." She continues.

"Call Daddy." He suggests, it's kind of an inconvenient time for him about now.

"He's in surgery. Look, I actually need you. It's like an actual emergency." She almost pleads and he guesses that's killing her a little bit.

…

Puck pulls up, cuts his engine and slams his door shut as he steps out of his truck.

She's lying on the hood of her car, sunglasses over her eyes and a sweet smile over her lips. Big fucking emergency.

"What took you?" She questions, pushing her sunglasses back to rest on her head.

He just throws a greasy paper bag in her direction. On seeing the logo her eyes light up. "Banana?"

"With extra syrup." He nods and pushes her off the car. If she's just going to fill her face she can do it somewhere else. He needs to take a look at the engine.

"These are insane." Her eyelashes flutter in appreciation.

She finishes the treat in record time. She can totally eat like a guy when she wants to. She sucks the sugar off of each finger one by one, moaning as she does so.

"You have syrup," He points to the corner of her mouth. She goes right but he meant left. "Here."

He wipes the trace of golden liquid away with the pad of his thumb.

"You have oil," She says, reaching her hand to his brow and erasing the trace of dirt away.

They're close enough to be mistaken for an actual couple or something. Not that they don't get close all the time. Just not like this. This is tender and soft and _caring_.

She steps back quickly, "So is the car done or what?"

"You'll have to ride back with me." He informs her. They were both kind of hoping she wouldn't have to. Because he drives stick and that always turns her on. Everything's so twisted right now that sex might actually end up meaning something.

…

Santana leans up onto her tiptoes and kisses Puck. It's a favour, that girl his Mom knows is staring their way, "You taste like…"

Santana pauses when she realises what's happened. He tastes like vanilla lip balm. That means he's been into contact with someone wearing vanilla lip balm.

She leans back and tries to pull herself together. It's just a dumb pact. She's not his girlfriend and he's definitely not her boyfriend. They're non-exclusive. He's allowed to hook up with whoever he likes.

He turns away slightly and rolls his shoulders arrogantly. It's annoying because she actually finds that sexy as hell.

"Whatever." Santana shrugs and pulls him back to her waiting lips. He can't know that she cares. No way. So she goes back to kissing him like nothing's changed. Only all she can taste is that fricking lip balm and it's making her feel sick.

"San, I've got practise." He says slowly, his eyes looking anywhere but at her.

"Sure." She nods, her heart sinking a little. It's ten minutes until practise and he's never been anything but late his whole entire life.

He goes to walk away but turns back to her, "Aren't you going to demand a quick one later?"

He's started to understand how she works, just a little. If she feels threatened or upset or some other messed up emotion, she uses him to feel better. It's her way and it works for him.

She sets her hands on her hips, "Actually I'm testing out my fake ID at a bar. So I might meet someone there."

Getting kicked back stings him a little. He doesn't know why. Or he pretends he doesn't.

He thought that his storm attack make-out session with Rachel Berry might have reminded him about the female population just waiting for some Puck love. But it didn't. It just kind of made him think about how much better San was with him than Rachel, or any other girl for that matter. Because with Santana it's easy. She knows everything a girl needs to know about him and she doesn't bother with any of that feelings shit. When they're together they just kind of 'are'. They don't talk about it, they barely think about it even. Something works.

A bunch of cheerleaders walk past him and he doesn't even smile.

He can just see the look in her eye. He doesn't even know what that look means. But he hates seeing it there.

…

She's drunk. Appallingly drunk. But she doesn't feel free or happy or loose. She feels kind of lost.

But she can't go home. She has to hook up. She needs to get even. Because she can't get that vanilla lip balm out of her head and the only way she will is by going one better and fucking some guy. Fucking him so bad that his smell seeps over her skin and lingers into tomorrow. She needs Puck to smell someone that isn't him all over her. To prove she doesn't need him. Because she doesn't. She doesn't need anyone.

"Hey,"

Some guy's been giving her the eye all night and she's been flirting right back. She may not have really meant it but flirting's like breathing to her.

"Hi?" She sounds drunk too.

He smiles, probably a little too slyly but she can't tell. He's not bad looking but not her usual type. He's tall and blond and she really hopes he owns a bike otherwise the amount of leather he's sporting is criminal.

"You want a ride, Sweet?"

She feels a little sick but nods all the same. She needs this. She needs an upper hand against Puck.

The guy all but lifts her to her feet. It's a good thing too because she couldn't have if she'd tried. He guides them towards the door and just before they reach it, someone crashes in.

She must be more drunk than she thought because the guy looks so like Puck. She kind of wishes it is Puck because he'd at least make her feel a little better. He has that talent.

"Santana." The voice is kind. And it's Puck's. It's the sweetest her name has ever sounded to her in her whole life. It's not just that it's Puck's voice but it's the fact that it's all creamy and soft. Not really like Puck at all.

Everything's a little hazy but she sees a fist fly and the leather dude fall the floor. And then her own world begins to spin out of control.

"I got you. I got you." And someone definitely has got her. She can feel their strong arms cradling her to their chest.

"I need to go home." She mumbles.

"Okay." The voice agrees, "You just go to sleep. I've got you."

…

He watches her as she dreams. She's beautifully gross. Beautiful because she's Santana and the girl's gorgeous. And gross because her mouth's hung open and her breath isn't exactly the sweetest. He should know, she's already barfed four times, once on his hand a little bit.

Morning stretches into the room and slowly her eyelids flutter open. She yawns and groans into her hangover. Ouch.

"Hey." He's not exactly one for words.

She lifts her head cautiously, managing to only keep one eye open at a time. She looks confused. He's not surprised really.

"Did we?" She questions, indicating between them. She has zero recollection of the previous night but she's just woken up in Puck's bed. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together.

"No. You got drunk and left Brittany, she called because she was scared of what might happen to you." Puck reveals to her. It's ironic; saved by Brittany.

As Santana collects her self a little more, she begins to get flashes of the previous night. "How did I end up here?"

"I punched some asshole out and carried you here." Puck enlightens her. It doesn't escape her that he seems proud of himself.

"I can look after myself." She murmurs. She's not one of those girls. One of the lame needy ones who needs a guy to stand up for her. It makes her feel weak.

Puck looks her square in the eye and gives her about the most serious look she's ever seen from him, "He was going to take advantage of you."

Was that Puckerman giving a damn? Or was it just her imagination making out like it was.

"What were you doing with him anyway?" Puck asks. Santana looks to her lap. "San,"

"What does it matter to you? He was just a hook up. That's allowed. We're non-exclusive." She shoots back accusingly. She only hopes it's not too obvious how jealous she is of that other girl's lips on his.

Puck scoffs, "I know that. Still, he wasn't good enough for you. You're better than him."

"Fuck you."

Jeez she's a piece of work. He saves her ass and this is the treatment he gets? Well fuck _her _then.

"I'm done, Puck. Deal's off."

He watches as she grabs her jacket and purse before storming from his bedroom. Freaking unbelievable. It's the last time he's going out of his way for anyone, if that's the kind of thanks he's going to get.

He groans and falls onto his recently vacated bed. It smells of her. Mystery, lust and butterscotch. And it makes him want her.

…

The first time they see each other again is Glee Club. They both hate that fact so damn much.

She's sat in her usual place next to Brittany, staring daggers at anyone who so much as breathes near her. He's on the other side of the room debating whether or not to ask her to explain why saving her ass was so damn wrong.

Instead Rachel starts talking so they both remove themselves from the room and go to their happy places. They don't realise they're both imagining the Ferris Wheel that smelt of popcorn and reached so high they were closer to the stars than the ground. And it's unlikely they'll ever know because they'd never admit to such a lame ass fact.

Rachel claps her hands, "Are you even listening to me?"

Puck and Santana jump from their fantasies as Rachel smacks her lips together in annoyance, creating a _poup _sound.

Santana narrows her eyes, noting the shimmer on Rachel's lips. Her eyes move to the midget brunette's now empty seat. Sure enough there's a little pot of vanilla lip balm sat them.

She's on her feet in an instant. Rachel Berry. Rachel freaking Berry. Santana has no idea what she's going to do to her but it's probably going to involve her hands and Rachel's neck. Before she can do anything though a pair of hands grab her and haul her backwards.

Puck.

So she kicks out hard. She really hates his guts right now.

"Outside!" Mr Schue orders. As if Puck wasn't half way to dragging her there already.

"Get off me!" Santana demands. "I'm not yours. You don't get to do things like this."

"Things like what? Stopping you from killing Rachel? Somebody's got to." He says, still holding her tightly.

She snorts, "Because she'd be such a big loss to society! Oh yeah, I forgot, you'd miss her vanilla kisses!"

He drops her then.

"Why Rachel?" Santana asks eventually, "What does she have that I don't?"

She's despises him right now because he's making her vulnerable. It's practically against her religion. Or something.

"Nothing." He admits flatly. None of them have.

"You've made me jealous of Rachel Berry. I might never forgive you for that." She tells him.

"I get that." He nods. And she believes him.

She looks up into his eyes, hating him and loving him all at once.

"So, what do we do now?" He asks, almost nervously.

"You took away my confidence, and now you're going to give it back." She says.

He's leaning over her and his breath is so notably not smelling of vanilla. So she pulls out her cell and dials the only number she really calls these days.

He laughs. She actually makes Puck laugh.

"Hey," He says into his cell.

"Make it so memorable that I forget all this shit that just happened." She requests.

"Done." He hangs up and lifts her into his arms, which is fast becoming a habit.

And she lets him sweep her off her feet. She'll yell at him later for it.


End file.
